


Prismatic Souls

by honeyedapricotsunshine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:51:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyedapricotsunshine/pseuds/honeyedapricotsunshine
Summary: In a world where soulmates exist, those who haven't met theirs see the world in black and white. Kyungsoo and Jongin, two people on opposite sides of the city's spectrum, wallowing in their loneliness, are searching for their soulmates. Then one day, Kyungsoo picks up a magazine, and his life changes forever.





	1. Chapter 1

Do Kyungsoo, 23 years old, working as a chef’s assistant at a cooking school. Living in a dingy, studio apartment somewhere far from the center of the city. And still, _still_ miserably, unforgivingly, alone. That most of his friends had already met their soulmates was no help to this loneliness. Even the small things, a comment about the color of someone’s shirt, the color of the sky on that day - isn’t it strange? An invitation to watch the sunset at Banpo bridge - what for? For the colors, of course! Jongdae, his closest friend, would take the time to meet Kyungsoo, cook with him, eat with him, but there was still the lurking figure of Park Chanyeol, Jongdae’s soulmate, and between the effervescent cheeriness of them both Kyungsoo wanted to puke.

Besides, he was busy. He had his job, which he went to six days a week, and worked long hours, if only to keep him from the soul-sucking alone-ness of his apartment, and he had his parents, who he went to visit on his day off, and he had bills to pay, and movies to watch, and groceries to buy and food to cook and clothes to wash and floors to clean and-

And?

There was a magazine, propped haphazardly in front of all the others, that Kyungsoo only recognized because Jongdae, his best friend, worked as a photographer for. GS25’s selection of magazines was meager, really, and Kyungsoo had never paid them much mind. This magazine, Jongdae’s magazine, as Kyungsoo always referred to it, was a fashion magazine, with slim, ugly models bedecked in sleek outfits, but this model…this model. Kyungsoo couldn’t tell if the magazine was just using a new method of printing, with covers that could holographically change, but there was something about the model on the cover that seemed…different. He was beautiful, long-legged, with broad shoulders, and he was- 

He was- not in black and white? Kyungsoo frowned, picking up the magazine, careful not to crease the glossy cover. It wasn’t bright, couldn’t be, he wasn’t seeing him in person after all, but the hints were there. A warm color, deep, on his shirt, and his skin, also warm, but different.

The ahjumma behind him cleared her throat, staring pointedly at the space in front of him. The cashier was waiting for him, a bored look on his face. Kyungsoo mumbled an apology, ears hot, and rushed to the counter, leaving the magazine behind.

 

He came back for it. Not to buy it, not really, just to see if it still happened. He stood off to the side, gingerly paging through the magazine, each glimpse of him a small flash of color. Kyungsoo drunk it in greedily, lingering on the model’s face, until a clerk, her face pinched with boredom, told him to buy it or leave. Kyungsoo placed it back on the shelf, but not before looking at the model’s name: Kim Jongin. And the photographer- oh. Kim Jongdae. So Jongdae knew this Jongin guy.

He formed a plan in his head, magnificent, down to every last detail. Kyungsoo would express interest in Jongdae’s work, get himself invited to a photoshoot, suavely introduce himself to this Jongin and they would kiss, passionately, and make sweet, colorful love-

But, of course, there was the small problem of Kyungsoo’s incredible shyness. Not to mention that Jongdae, with his ever sharp thinking, would be far too intrigued in Kyungsoo’s sudden interest in his work to let it go. And of course, the most worrisome of all the problems: that Kyungsoo would see Jongin in color, but Jongin would not see _him_ in color. Kyungsoo’s stomach flipped. Why would he? A super hot model, see _him_ , bug-eyed, short, near-sighted Kyungsoo, in color? No. It was ridiculous. So Kyungsoo filed it away and headed home, forgetting all about it when he curled up in bed to watch movies.

 

But it didn’t leave him alone. All Saturday, through the din of preparation, of chopping and rinsing and cleaning and measuring, he couldn’t get Jongin’s face out of his head. Even his mortifying blunder, handing (what the chef told him was) a green pepper instead of a red one (how could he tell? They looked the same, all varying shades of gray), wasn’t enough to distract him. Which is why, during his lunch break, he decided to look this Kim Jongin up, dropping his chopsticks unceremoniously in his bowl of soup when the flash of color came up on the screen. Brilliant, really. As if he wasn’t looking Jongin up precisely because Kyungsoo could see him in (partial) color. He fished them out, licking the excess broth off and hoping his boss wasn’t in the room to see it. But now he was entranced, by the warmth of Jongin’s skin, the way it contrasted with the color of the shirt (Kyungsoo really wanted to know the name of that color, it was so bright, so rich). Jongin’s jawline was so sharp, and his slim fingers so elegant. So engrossed was Kyungsoo in staring at his phone that he didn’t feel Jaehwan sneak up behind him and snatch the phone.

“Ooh, who is this absolutely delicious five course meal?” Jaehwan purred. Kyungsoo spun around, cursing at him through the dumpling in his mouth. “Kim Jongin, huh. Didn’t take you for the type to moon over celebrities.” Jaehwan scrolled through the pictures, side stepping Kyungsoo’s vicious swipe.

“Give it back!” Kyungsoo growled. He managed to grab Jaehwan’s sleeve, pulling him hard enough to throw him off balance.

“Ah- hey! You’re gonna stretch my shirt,” Jaehwan grumbled, huffing when Kyungsoo snatched his phone back, cradling it. “It’s just some stupid model, anyway. Why are you looking him up?” Kyungsoo didn’t deign him with an answer, returning instead to his soup. “If you want a devilishly handsome man to look at you’ve already got me.” Jaehwan gave Kyungsoo a lopsided grin, but Kyungsoo replied with a scowl. “Oh come on.”

“Go away,” he muttered.

“No need to get so pissy,” Jaehwan huffed, sitting across from Kyungsoo despite the glare.

“Shouldn’t you be peeling potatoes or something,” said Kyungsoo.

“It’s not complicated. I don’t need half an hour for it,”

“It’s ten pounds of potatoes,”

“Oh, fine. I’ll go do my work. Moody, much?” Jaehwan ruffled Kyungsoo’s hair, chuckling when Kyungsoo tried to slap his hand away.

 

-

 

Modeling hadn’t been Jongin’s dream, not really. He wanted to dance, to shine on a stage, to move to the music. But dance, unfortunately, had not paid his bills. Modeling had come to him, unworked for, almost. An agent, seeing him one day, sweaty, hair unruly, sun in his eyes, asked him to try out. He did. They loved him. And that was how he made it; one of Korea’s top models, with magazine offers out the wazoo, designers tripping over themselves to get their clothes on him. But it did nothing. The other models, he didn’t understand. They loved it, the industry, the work. But they lost themselves in it. Many of them, he knew, would sleep around, living their whole lives in black and white, unloved and unloving. He was, he felt, far too alone. His consolation: Baekhyun, a model, one of his few model friends, who was also colorblind, also alone.

One of the few luxuries he allowed himself was his apartment, a two-storied penthouse south of the river, with a sprawling view of the city. The terrace was his favorite part, sheltered just enough so that the wind would not be a bother, but still cool in the summer. In the winter, he curled up on the sprawling sofa, against the northern window, indulging in books and fatty food, at least until his manager complained, pointing at the fullness of Jongin’s cheeks. He rather liked his cheeks full, but fashion didn’t, so he would exercise (in the privacy of his own apartment, of course- why have a penthouse and not a private gym). That brought its own satisfaction, seeing his muscles ripple under his skin, glistening with sweat. He hoped his soulmate, whoever it could be, would like it, too.

Then he’d strut onto the set, the clothes tight (they always were, because he needed to sell those glorious muscles he worked so hard on), holding flowers, sitting under palm trees, sprawled on the floor. And then on to the next set. Off came the makeup, the clothes; he’d sit patiently under the hands of the makeup artist (they always saw in color, just like the photographers, and the designers, and the stylists). Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d be paired with Baekhyun; photoshoots were more relaxed, then, and Baekhyun even got the photographer to take photos of them making faces. Not Choi Siwon, he was kind of a dick, by the book and unwilling to waste even a pixel on less than perfect photos. But Kim Jongdae, funny guy, would let them in indulge. He’d even suggest faces, and equally ridiculous poses, his bright laugh a welcome relief from the stiff, uptightness of most photoshoots.

So life was good, sort of. Good money, good apartment, good friend (singular, unfortunately, he didn’t consider anyone else a friend, except perhaps Moonkyu). And yet the gnawing loneliness, knowing that his soulmate was out there, somewhere, perhaps feeling just as alone.

 

Just as alone as Baekhyun, too. Sometimes, like now, Jongin would feel guilty about his moping. Baekhyun was, of course, two years older than him, still seeing in black and white. Most people, Jongin would groan, would have already met their soulmate by now. And Baekhyun, ever cheerful, would remind him that for some people it took time.

But now, Baekhyun didn’t say that. He stayed quiet instead, slowly munching on his food. Jongin traced his fingers over the design on the cover of the book he’d picked out. It was a quiet afternoon, one of the few days they’d had off, what with magazines rushing to get their winter shoots done.

“I just- get so desperately lonely, y’know?” Jongin continued, playing with the corner of the book. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like my life hasn’t quite started yet.” Baekhyun sniffled.

“I know,” he said softly. They were quiet now, just the rustle of Jongin flipping through the book, and the clink of Baekhyun’s chopsticks against the bowl.

“I try, you know,” Baekhyun said at last. Jongin looked up at him, confused. “I try to stay positive. To always cheer people up. To be that bright light. But-“ he sighed, placing his chopsticks on the table, “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m missing the biggest part of my life.” Jongin took Baekhyun’s hands in his, squeezing them gently.

“Hyung, you know I’m-“

“Yes, I know but-“ he sniffled again, “but it’s not the same. And we can’t give each other what we really need. You know that.” Jongin pulled away, settling back onto his chair.

“I’m sorry,” Jongin said, his voice barely a whisper. Baekhyun chuckled, wiping his eyes.

“What for, silly. There’s nothing you can do, you know,” he smiled at Jongin, his eyes and nose bright red. Jongin shifted in his seat, fiddling with the book again.

“I’m sorry we’re sitting in a multi-million dollar penthouse, eating corner store kimbap, like the famous models we are, but all we can do is be miserable,” Jongin said wryly. Baekhyun kicked him, laughing when Jongin tried to bite back a smile.

“Well, I’m sorry that we have to do a photoshoot with Choi on Thursday,” said Baekhyun. Jongin groaned, the book slipping from his lap.

“Why him?” Baekhyun shrugged.

“Fuck if I know? I just know it’s gonna suck,” said Baekhyun.

“Well, if things get any worse in life, for us, I could always be your lifelong companion,” Jongin joked. Baekhyun threw his head back, laughing.

“As much as I think you would give divine dick, it’s gonna be a no from me,” said Baekhyun. Jongin faked a pout, a dramatic sob shaking his chest. Baekhyun threw his balled up napkin at Jongin, sniggering when it nearly landed in Jongin’s mouth.

 

Thursday was, as they had expected, absolutely terrible. The Choi, as they referred to him, was as stuck up and demanding as ever. They’d been given very dramatic makeup, which Jongin only imagined was worse in color, and their clothes were all transparent. The important parts were covered, of course, with conveniently placed props, and, in some cases, just a hand.

The Choi sniffed.

“I need-“ he rested his fingers on his chin, lost in thought. “I need homoerotic,” he decided. Baekhyun and Jongin exchanged glances, eyebrows raised. The Choi stood, hand on hip, waiting for them to move. “Today!”

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, slipping his leg between Jongin’s thighs, snorting when the plastic of his pants stuck to Jongin’s. Jongin widened his legs enough for Baekhyun to get comfortable, smothering a giggle when Baekhyun placed a hand on his right pec.

“Ah- ah- no,” The Choi snapped. Baekhyun sighed, resting his forehead against Jongin’s head. “This is far too close. You’ll look-“ The Choi glanced around, pursing his lips, “You’ll look gay.” Baekhyun and Jongin looked at each other, then at him.

“You just asked for homoerotic,” Baekhyun said, quirking an eyebrow when The Choi nodded.

“Yes, but this is too much. Look, the leg between his thighs- no- no, no, no. This won’t do,” The Choi sucked his teeth. “No, instead, Baekhyun- here- no, not there, _this_ way-” Baekhyun complied, slipping down until he was settled between Jongin’s legs on the floor. “Now, up- no, not all the way.” Baekhyun was kneeling now, a hand delicately placed on one of Jongin’s thighs. Jongin’s manager rubbed his temples, watching The Choi fuss over them some more.

“Not to rush you, Mr. Choi, but Mr. Kim has another photoshoot this afternoon,” he said. The Choi sniffed, nodding.

“I’m well aware of the time, Mr. Noh,” The Choi drawled, snapping away at them.

He was, in fact, not. They were freed, from The Choi’s incessant fussing and the chafing of the plastic clothes, two hours later.

 

 Jongin’s manager ran through the schedule, lips pursed.

“You have a solo shoot on Sunday,” he said, sucking his teeth,

“Sunday?” Jongin asked. He pouted, peering over his manager’s shoulder. “With who?”

“For Dazed Magazine. Apparently that was the only day both you and Photographer Kim had available,” the manager flipped through the other pages.

“Kim Jongdae, Kim?” Jongin asked. The manager nodded absentmindedly. “Ah, well, at least there’s that.”

“You’ll be free the rest of the day, though,” said the manager.

“Oh, goodie,” said Jongin, grinning when manager Noh gave him an unamused look.

“You have a good rest of the weekend,” his manager said, shuffling out of Jongin’s apartment.


	2. Prismatic Souls

“You need to get out of the house more,” Jongdae declared. Kyungsoo inhaled sharply, choking on the noodles he’d just slurped.

“Why?” He asked, tears in his eyes, once he’d calmed down. Jongdae had smacked him on the back, none too gently.

“Because you do,” Jongdae replied. Kyungsoo gave him a hard look, though its effect was lessened by the splotchiness of his cheeks. “Because I said so.”

“That’s not-“

“Um, yes. It is a good enough reason. I’m your hyung, and you’re coming with me,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo kept eating, his lip curled in dissatisfaction.

“It’s still not. Where are we going anyway?” Kyungsoo grumbled at last.

“To a photoshoot I’m doing,” Jongdae chirped, beaming at Kyungsoo’s sour face. But then- oh. Kyungsoo’s eyes widened, the realization washing over him.

“Who- who are you gonna shoot- I mean, take photos of,” he asked. Jongdae narrowed his eyes at Kyungsoo.

“Why do you wanna know?” Jongdae asked, “I didn’t realize you knew any models by name.” Kyungsoo gulped, avoiding Jongdae’s eyes.

“I..don’t?” Jongdae didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press it.

“It’s Kim Jongin,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo choked again, this time on air. Did Jongdae- did he _know_? No, it was impossible. Kyungsoo hadn’t told a soul about what he’d seen, not even when Jaehwan grilled him about it (again, after work, when Kyungsoo was tired and cranky and just wanted to be home). Once he’d calmed down, Kyungsoo wiped the fresh tears away, sniffling.

“Oh, that guy?” Kyungsoo winced; he’d aimed for nonchalant, but had missed the mark entirely. Jongdae leaned on the counter, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, that guy,” he stopped, looking at Kyungsoo, smiling when Kyungsoo began to squirm.

“Stop staring at me like that,”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo scoffed.

“What could I possibly not be telling you?” he asked. Well, that was a stupid question. There were many things Jongdae could suspect, and Kyungsoo was afraid of every one of them. Jongdae bit his lip.

“I don’t know yet,” he said softly, “But I _will_ figure it out.” Kyungsoo swallowed hard. Should he- No. But maybe- No, Jongdae would think him an idiot. Coming clean was the last thing Kyungsoo wanted to do, if only to preserve his pride. But Jongdae suspected him of keeping a secret. Which meant that Kyungsoo had to act like he still didn’t want to go. Then Jongdae wouldn’t suspect a thing.

“I still don’t see why I have to get out of the house more,” Kyungsoo whined, picking at the now lukewarm noodles.

“Because I _said_ so,” Jongdae said through gritted teeth.

“But I don’t _want_ to,” Kyungsoo shot back.

“Well, tough luck, bitch, because you’re going,” said Jongdae.

 

The building was enormous. Kyungsoo had lost track of how to get out, which of course led him to imagine a thousand scenarios in which he _had_ to get out of the building (like, say, godzilla crashing through the city, or an alien portal that opened up just above the roof of this building) and would most likely perish because he simply could not find the fucking exit. He would have to rely on Jongdae, who maneuvered through the halls so easily, so confidently.

The studio had already been set up, but Jongdae, ever the perfectionist, began to tweak it to his liking, leaving Kyungsoo sitting besides the cameras, feeling quite like a turd among all the fancy equipment and the equally fancy people. His palms were grossly sweaty; he had to keep wiping them on his jeans. The bustle of people on set was soothing, at least, quite like the bustle of the kitchen.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out,” said Jongdae, a hand on his hip. Kyungsoo jumped, startled by the sound of Jongdae’s voice. “Now you look even worse.” Kyungsoo squeaked, but couldn’t say much. “Don’t shit yourself plea-ow!”

“This was _your_ brilliant idea. _Not_ mine,” Kyungsoo hissed. He jabbed at his glasses angrily, scrunching his nose when they wedged themselves too tightly on the bridge of his nose. Jongdae laughed, slapping Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“You’ll be _fine_ ,” he winked at Kyungsoo, kneeling next to the camera bags. Kyungsoo watched him, half fascinated, half angry, as Jongdae attached the lens to the smallest camera.

Once Jongdae was done and waiting, fiddling with the camera, he heard a rustle, and sharp footsteps. Kyungsoo turned, and his mind went blank.

Long. His legs were damn long. Like, _miles_ long. And his arms. Oh, his arms. Bulging. Not too much of course, just toned enough to make Kyungsoo’s blood rush. With a gorgeous, head of thick black hair and full lips, his hooded eyes so, so alluring. And-

Oh. Oh, no.

It was different now.

The colors were bright now, saturated. Jongin’s skin, the warmth that radiated from him, the cool colors on his shirt. But it didn’t stop there. No, the colors spread, seeping into everything and everyone in the room. It wasn’t explosive, not like Kyungsoo had thought it would be, but rather a gentle flowing out of a central point. That central point was Jongin. Kim Jongin. Kyungsoo couldn’t take his eyes off him. Jongin was bowing now, greeting everyone, a polite smile on his beautiful face.

Kyungsoo was trembling, his palms sweaty, his stomach lurching. With each step Jongin took, closer to Kyungsoo, he felt his heart drop. He tugged on Jongdae’s sleeve, but Jongdae shrugged him off. He grabbed it again, tugging harder. Jongdae frowned down at him, his face softening when he saw how pale Kyungsoo was, a film of sweat on his forehead.

“What is it?” Jongdae whispered. Kyungsoo opened his mouth to reply, but Jongin was turning in their direction. He whimpered, scuttling to hide behind the chairs. “Kyungsoo-” But Jongin had reached Jongdae, and Kyungsoo, eyes darting frantically, made his escape, slipping into the hallway before the others could notice.

He was hyperventilating, his heartbeat erratic, and though he tried to keep himself calm, he couldn’t. The bright walls of the building were taunting him, labyrinthine, impossible to get out of. Once he’d sped out of the studio (and had nearly knocked into several people), he walked around, trying to find the elevators. His earlier thoughts, though irrational, came back to exasperate his already anxious heart.

“Breathe, stay calm, it’ll be fine,” he repeated under his breath. But he kept turning corners, and corners, and corners, and endless loop of white walls.

So he stopped, leaning against a wall and closing his eyes. It took him awhile, but he managed to steady his breathing, no longer feeling like he’d just finished running a marathon. He wiped the tears from his face roughly (he hadn’t, in his panic, even felt them) and set out to find the elevators, determined though still afraid. At least, he thought, this elevator quest was keeping his thoughts preoccupied.

It turned out, much to Kyungsoo’s annoyance, that’d he passed the elevators several times. He waited for one, freezing when the elevator doors opened and five pairs of eyes stared at him. A man huffed, crossing his arms. The ding of another elevator finally jolted Kyungsoo into motion, mumbling an apology and squeezing in.

The sun was too bright, the sky a dazzling color that Kyungsoo didn’t know the name of. Now that he was outside, the array of colors was dizzying. Kyungsoo blinked, disoriented. The colors threw him off; he wasn’t sure where the subway was, not in the multitude of people, the dazzling buildings, the groaning buses. He stumbled towards a corner, leaning on the lamppost, the sun behind him, but it was little comfort. His head was starting to ache.

But then- people. People coming out onto the street from an escalator. Yes, that was the subway entrance. Kyungsoo made his way to it, looking at the sign. Was that- was that what Jongdae meant by the orange line? Kyungsoo had always navigated by the numbers.

Despite the growing migraine and the dizzying colors, Kyungsoo made it home. He didn’t bother looking around, not taking in the grim colors of the dingy apartment, a pop of something new. He just rushed to his room, throwing off his coat, and threw himself onto the bed.

Color. Full color. He (stupidly) didn’t expect it to happen, despite the flashes when he saw Jongin’s pictures. But he still couldn’t believe. The journey home had still not been enough for it so sink in.

So now, in the safety of his bedroom, he allowed the denial to flourish. He refused to look up, his face smothered by his pillow. And then his thoughts began their acrobatics. It really happened. Jongin, supermodel Kim Jongin, and Kyungsoo saw him in full color. But no- absolutely not. He wouldn’t give himself the chance to be rejected, for his heart to be split into pieces. No. He’d just hole up in his apartment, safe. Safe, and alone as always.

 

-

 

The photoshoot went smoothly enough, though Jongdae seemed off. They were sitting by the monitor, now, checking the photographs. Jongdae kept checking his phone, a small frown marring his brow. Jongin wanted to ask, but he kept quiet instead; it might get awkward. They weren’t _that_ close after all. So he stared at the computer instead, watching the images load.

But they weren’t just his pictures. There were others, before his shoot, that loaded as well. And a boy. A beautiful boy. With wide eyes and heart shaped lips, large glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. And he was- in color. Soft, washed out, as it happened in photos. Only in person would he see them in full color. Jongin gulped.

“Um- Mr. Kim-”

“It’s Jongdae,” said Jongdae, smiling at Jongin’s mumbled apology.

“Who- who is that?” he asked, pointing at one of the photos. But then they disappeared, replaced by the photos of Jongin’s shoot. Jongdae laughed at Jongin’s embarrassed squawk and scrolled up.

“Ah, that’s just a friend of mine,” he said, “I was testing out a new lens filter, needed someone to practice with.” Jongin licked his lips, leaning closer. Jongdae narrowed his eyes, watching Jongin study the photos. “Why do you want to know?” Jongin looked at him, startled.

“Oh- uh,” Jongin replied eloquently. His eyes darted between Jongdae and the computer. “He’s...cute?” Jongdae raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, is that all?” Jongdae asked, sounding quite amused. Jongin bit his lip. An assistant looked through the papers on the table, pausing when Jongin looked at her. Jongdae cleared his throat. “Can you, uh, grab us some tea?” She pursed her lips, but nodded. Once she’d left, Jongin turned to Jongdae.

“I- I’m seeing him in color,” Jongin said, his voice nearly a whisper. Jongdae’s eyes widened. He looked at his phone, then at Jongin.

“Oh, that makes so much sense,” Jongdae said cryptically. Jongin stared at him, blinking. That...was odd. But then the assistant appeared again, a cup of tea in each hand. The questions would have to wait.


	3. Prismatic Souls

“Kyungsoo, you absolute idiot!” Jongdae screeched, letting himself into Kyungsoo’s apartment.

He hadn’t gone out since Sunday (it was now Wednesday, as Jaehwan’s text reminded him). Instead, he’d holed up in his apartment, which was as drab in color as it had been in black and white. But he couldn’t go out and face the world. Not right now. Not ever, really. So he stayed in (caving to his curiosity on Monday night and learning the color names; that color he so loved on Jongin was red), wasting all his money on takeout, his days defined by the sofa, his bed, and the kitchen sink.

But now Jongdae barged in. Kyungsoo peeked at Jongdae over the pile of blankets, sniffling. Jongdae stopped in front of him. Kyungsoo had forgotten he’d given Jongdae a copy of the key years ago, and now sorely wished he’d never done it.

“Ok, that was mean. I’m sorry,” Jongdae said tenderly, ruffling Kyungsoo’s hair. “You’re still an idiot though.” Kyungsoo curled up further into the blankets, pulling one over his head.

“Why didn’t you tell me you saw Jongin in color?” Jongdae asked, pulling the blankets away. Shivering, Kyungsoo groped blindly for them, squawking when he found Jongdae’s leg instead.

“H-how did you-“

“Figure it out? You scrambled out of that studio as soon as he walked in. And the fact that you knew his name when you sometimes forget _my_ name,” Kyungsoo scowled at him, still searching for the blankets, but Jongdae held them hostage. “And _then_ you not answering my calls _or_ my texts for so many days.”

“I just wanted to be alone,” Kyungsoo sniffed. Jongdae’s eyebrows rose.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” He repeated, pulling gently on Kyungsoo’s ear. It was quiet now; just the echo of Kyungsoo’s neighbor yelling at her dog in the hallway, the distant rumble of buses, and the nearly inaudible chugging of the train along the tracks.

“Because I’m afraid,” Kyungsoo said at last.

“Afraid of what?” Jongdae knelt beside Kyungsoo, placing a hand on Kyungsoo’s knee.

“Afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t-“ Kyungsoo took a shaky breath.

“If he doesn’t see you in color?” Jongdae asked. Kyungsoo nodded, sniffling again, willing the tears to disappear. Jongdae stared at him, lost in thought, but then an excited glint appeared in his eyes. “Come to dinner with me.” Kyungsoo looked at him, faced screwed up in confusion.

“No,”

“Ah, Kyungsoo why?” Jongdae whined. Kyungsoo rolled his eyes.

“Because I don’t want to go out,” he said flatly.

“But it’ll be at my place,” Jongdae continued his whine, “And I’ll grill meat, and Chanyeol will get some soju.” He perched his chin on Kyungsoo’s knee, batting his eyelashes up at him. Kyungsoo shrugged him off.

“No,”

“Aaah, Kyungsoo,” Jongdae threw himself onto the sofa dramatically, fake sobbing until Kyungsoo poked him hard in the ribs.

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Kyungsoo grumbled, “Only if you shut up.” Jongdae flashed him a bright grin.

“You won’t regret it, Dudu,” Jongdae ruffled Kyungsoo’s hair.

“I hate it when you call me that,” Kyungsoo huffed, slapping Jongdae’s hand away.

“You love it, my dear. Anyway, my place, six o’clock,” Jongdae chirped, skipping out of Kyungsoo’s apartment. As soon as Jongdae left Kyungsoo felt his stomach sink. A list of excuses to worm his way out of this ran through his mind, but he knew Jongdae was capable of coming back to drag him out, so he resigned himself to his fate.

 

And now, in Jongdae’s apartment (which Kyungsoo was appreciating in color for the first time), he sat on the deep brown sofa, toying with the pale pink cushion. Chanyeol had brought him a glass of soju, which he downed instantly, and Chanyeol had laughed, refusing to bring him another one.

“If I want to get shit-faced, let me get shit-faced. I’m 22, you giant oaf,” Kyungsoo growled. Chanyeol only smiled cryptically and shuffled out of Kyungsoo’s reach. Jongdae had just started grilling the meat out on the terrace, but the mouthwatering scent had made its way into the apartment, and Kyungsoo’s stomach voiced its approval. He was tempted to go out there (Jongdae had closed it off for the winter with giant glass panels that still offered the spectacular view of the skyline, but it was still drafty, the biting winter wind worming its way in), but the warmth of the living room and the coziness of the sofa made him groggy, completely unwilling to get up. So he settled for observing from his seat.

The walls were off-white, which Kyungsoo found rather disappointing, now that he could see color, but there were framed photographs on each wall; some of Chanyeol, some of landscapes, dramatic mountains piercing through low clouds, some of Jongdae’s family, and each one so incredibly bright. But ever the artist, Jongdae had arranged them to match, so that the warmer photos were on one wall and the cooler on the others. In Jongdae’s office, Kyungsoo knew, were photos from his shoots, framed and occupying the wall space, but he _really_ didn’t want to move, not even to see if one of those happened to be of Jongin.

In his research Kyungsoo had decided that he preferred warm colors; the soft glow of yellow, the comforting warmth of deep orange. He had a vision, then, of his apartment ablaze with warmth, from the ceiling to kitchen counter to the toothbrush on the bathroom sink. He even went as far as scouring websites for new bedclothes and paint, saving those he loved most. But for himself, he preferred blue. He was wearing it now, a soft sky blue shirt (he had always thought it was just gray) with his jeans, and deeper blue socks with lighter dots. He’d been disappointed to find out that most of his wardrobe was, in fact, colorless, just a collection of varying shades of black. He would fix it too, he thought, gradually.

But now that the shuffle of Chanyeol in the kitchen, Jongdae’s voice from the terrace, the warmth and the comfort of the sofa were all lulling him to sleep, he decided to stand. Jongdae and Chanyeol were not to be trusted, not when he had work the next day. He’d woken up one too many times with a mustache on his face, hastily scrawled with a marker (and not always above his lip). So he stood up, groaning as he stretched, and shuffled his way to the kitchen.

“Aw, you _didn’t_ fall asleep,” Chanyeol whined. Kyungsoo glared at him, pushing past to grab a glass. “What? Our mustaches always add to you macho allure.” Jongdae laughed, which only made Kyungsoo’s scowl deepen.

“How can you even hear him from over there?” He grumbled.

“That’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” Jongdae quipped, his voice carrying from the terrace. Now Kyungsoo was even more bothered: he hated it when Jongdae would tease him like this.

Chanyeol, seeing Kyungsoo reach for the soju bottle, smoothly swapped the shot glass for a regular one, full of soda, and shooed him out onto the terrace. When Jongdae gave him a confused look, Chanyeol smiled.

“He can watch the meat, while we finish over here,” Chanyeol said sweetly, pulling Jongdae into the kitchen. So Kyungsoo stayed by the grill, standing awkwardly, watching it sizzle.

There was a knock on the door, and Kyungsoo’s stomach churned. He peeked at Jongdae over the rim of his cup, feeling more than a little betrayed. Wasn’t this supposed to be dinner for him? Why would Jongdae invite someone else? He stayed on the terrace, hoping that perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps Jongdae had forgotten something and asked someone to bring whatever it was. But then he heard Jongdae and Chanyeol greet the person and invite them in, and the deep voice that answered them, equally as polite. Kyungsoo’s palms grew sweaty. What if he had to hide on the terrace the whole night and freeze to death? Maybe he’d be able to slip inside and hide in the closet-

Jongdae’s voice piqued Kyungsoo’s interest, so he peered into the living room, the shatter of his glass drawing all eyes on him, but his heart was beating so wildly he didn’t even notice.

 

-

 

He knocked on the door, licking his lips. His shoes were a bit loose, and he had to keep shifting his weight to get comfortable. Sweat pooled above his lip, and he wiped it away, sighing as he did so. Not for the first time, Jongin cursed his sweatiness. It was one of the things he hated about photoshoots; the heavy heat of the lights always sent the assistants into a frenzy, blotting the damp from his face.

At last, Jongdae opened the door, greeting him cheerfully. Jongin gave him a nervous smile, no doubt looking more pained than joyous, but he still hadn’t quite figured out why Jongdae had invited him, though he had his suspicions. He tried to peer over Jongdae’s head, but a massive bean pole of a person blocked his way. The bean pole’s name was Chanyeol, Jongdae’s soulmate, and Jongin found his ears massively distracting. Really, how couldn’t he, when they stuck out so much.

He toed off his shoes (and shed the socks, hoping Jongdae wouldn’t think much of it), and walked in, still marveling at the way Chanyeol’s ears seemed ready to fly off his head.

“The food is _almost_ done,” Jongdae, who had been talking since Jongin arrived, announced. “But I think there’s enough time for you to meet-“ Glass shattering cut him off. They all looked towards the terrace, and standing there, eyes wide, lips in a perfect O, looking incredibly startled, was Kyungsoo.

And it was incredible. Color had seeped into all of Kyungsoo, spreading, leaking into the living room, the still not quite dark sky, the kitchen, Chanyeol and Jongdae’s bright striped sweaters. And for that moment, as stupid as it felt, neither Jongin nor Kyungsoo could move; they just stared at each other, letting the shock sink in.

That was, until Kyungsoo leapt back and hid in the terrace corner. Jongdae jumped into action, scurrying to find the broom, while Chanyeol tried his best to gingerly pick up the bigger pieces. Jongin stood there awkwardly, still frozen to his spot, his brain whirring, calculating what the best thing to do would be. But with the shock of seeing color, of knowing his soulmate was less than a few feet away, his brain malfunctioned. So he stood there, blinking stupidly, staring at the spot where Kyungsoo had been standing.

“You should probably go talk to him,” said Chanyeol, grinning when Jongin sputtered.

“He’s just really shy,” Jongdae added, smiling brightly.

“So am I,” Jongin said softly. Jongdae sighed.

“Alright, hang on,” he made his way to the terrace. There was bickering, and Jongdae’s trademark whining, what sounded like a slap, and then he reappeared, Kyungsoo by his side. “Listen, I didn’t plan this so you’d hide in a corner the whole ti- don’t! Step there! Chanyeol is still cleaning that!”

Their eyes met, and Jongin tried smiling, but he couldn’t. Jongdae marched Kyungsoo to the sofa, then, seeing that Jongin was still glued to the same spot, marched Jongin over to sit next to Kyungsoo.

Great. Now they were sitting together, so close, their thighs nearly touching, but Kyungsoo was avoiding his eyes, engrossed by the loose string on the cushion instead.

“H-hi,” Jongin said meekly. Kyungsoo froze, still not looking at him. “I’m-”

“Kim Jongin. I know,” said Kyungsoo, though his voice was hardly more than a whisper. Jongin faltered, unsure what to say. “I’m-“ Kyungsoo finally looked up at him, “I’m Do Kyungsoo.” Jongin’s breath hitched. Kyungsoo licked his lips, going back to the cushion string, but Jongin reached out, resting his fingers on Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo gasped, their eyes meeting again. But now it was too much, the emotion overwhelming, and Jongin felt the hot prick of tears welling in his eyes.

“Sorry,” Jongin sniffled, but the tears fell anyway. Kyungsoo gently wiped them off, but now his eyes were glossy. “I- I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long and now I don’t even know what to say.” They both laughed, and Kyungsoo inched closer, placing a warm hand on Jongin’s back. Their thighs were touching now, and it was driving Jongin insane, to feel that warmth pressed against him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not good with words at any moment in my life,” said Kyungsoo and oh- oh, his smile was heart shaped, his cheeks perfect little apples. Jongin melted, smiling at the flush on Kyungsoo’s cheeks when the other noticed Jongin’s intense gaze.

“Ah, well maybe moments like these don’t need words anyway,” said Jongin, regretting it instantly. Baekhyun had always accused him of excessive corniness, and now Jongin was wishing he’d actually cared to remedy that. But Kyungsoo didn’t seem phased, just nodding in agreement, nervously pushing his hair back. And then, because Kyungsoo’s skin looked so soft, Jongin was gripped with the urge to kiss him, so he did, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Kyungsoo’s cheek. Kyungsoo squeaked in surprise, his neck flushed. Oh, how cute. How so very incredibly adorably cute. Now he was hiding his face in his hands, peeking up at Jongin, and Jongin wanted to squeal, and to bury him in kisses.

Chanyeol cleared his throat, waiting for both of them to look at him, an amused and rather proud smile on his lips.

“Dinner is ready,” he said, “Unless, of course, you guys don’t want to eat because you’re- uh- busy.” Jongin and Kyungsoo looked at each other, then at Chanyeol.

“I mean, I’m…hungry,” Kyungsoo mumbled. His stomach growled then, as if on cue.

“I’m always hungry,” Jongin piped up, grinning at Kyungsoo’s bashful smile. Chanyeol rolled his eyes.

“Alright, come on, before you guys give me gas with all this lovey-dovey stuff,” he turned to go back to the kitchen, but not before Kyungsoo had landed an echoing slap on his calf. Jongdae’s head popped out from behind the living room wall.

“Don’t abuse my man like that,” Jongdae frowned.

“Tell him to leave me alone,” Kyungsoo grumbled. They followed Chanyeol to the dining room and sat down.

“Where would you be in life if not for us,” said Jongdae. Kyungsoo opened his mouth, but Jongdae cut him off. “Don’t answer that.” A small frown wrinkled Kyungsoo’s brow, but it was offset by his pout. Jongin sighed, resting his elbow on the table.

“So cute,” Jongin said softly. Everyone else froze and Kyungsoo blushed, curling into his chair. Jongdae and Chanyeol waited with baited breath, but nothing else happened.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh,” Chanyeol said, looking a little annoyed.

“Huh?”

“If we ever try to call him cute-”

“I’m _not_ cute,” Kyungsoo gritted through his teeth. Chanyeol ignored him.

“If we, his best friends, try to call him cute, he tries to murder us,” Chanyeol finished. Jongdae, who had stepped out to serve the meat, came back in, brandishing the plate before them.

“At last, we feast,” he announced, piling it onto their plates. Jongin looked over at Kyungsoo.

“But you are cute,” Jongin said softly. Kyungsoo bit his lip, avoiding Jongin’s eyes, but Jongin knew there was a small smile on Kyungsoo’s lips. Chanyeol huffed, looking even more offended. But then Jongin’s stomach growled, and he apologized, blushing; the others laughed, but Jongdae had finished serving them. Chanyeol held out his arms.

“Feast, my children,” he boomed. Kyungsoo crinkled his nose.

“You’re so fucking weird,” he mumbled. Jongin giggled, especially at the offended look on Jongdae’s face, but the food smelled too good, and they were far too hungry, so they dug in.

“Well, you have quite the appetite,” said Jongdae, looking rather impressed that Jongin had fit four pieces of meat in his mouth. Jongin had the decency to look apologetic, feeling all the more embarrassed when Jongdae and Chanyeol stared at him.

The rest of the meal, thankfully, passed without much fuss, and they finished all with cups of tea, Jongdae on Chanyeol’s lap. Jongin sat next to Kyungsoo, feeling a bit stiff, but then Kyungsoo leaned into him. He wrapped an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulder, resting his cheek on Kyungsoo’s head. Chanyeol cooed at them, flinching when Kyungsoo threw a cushion. It was a comfortable silence now, just relishing in the company, and Jongin finally felt like things were good, like the pieces of his life were falling into place.


	4. Prismatic Souls (Chapter 3.5)

When Jongin invited him to the apartment, Kyungsoo happily agreed, so caught up in the warm fuzzies of the sofa cuddling that he didn’t think twice about it. But then they got in the car, and _then_ they went to Gangnam. Kyungsoo (stupidly) thought Jongin had said “home” and not “shopping” so helooked out the window, confused, but still admiring the glassiness of the tall buildings, the ugly glare of neon lights, so different now with the bright pinks and yellows. And then the car pulled up to one of the buildings. One of the big buildings. Like, _huge_. Jongin was smiling at him, and Kyungsoo was feeling his palms get sweaty again. The thought formed in his mind, Jongin _was_ a really famous model after all (at least, he got that from Jongdae), but live-in-the-middle of Gangnam famous? No, that didn’t sound right. This was probably just a pit-stop, a party or something.

But then Jongin got out the car and held the door open for him, and Kyungsoo got out, cursing when he stumbled (right into Jongin’s broad, firm chest - Kyungsoo let his hand linger for a bit). There was a doorman (a whole doorman?! Those really existed?!), who greeted Jongin with a tilt of the hat, and smiled at Kyungsoo, though there was a curious glint in his eye. Jongin returned the greeting, and pulled Kyungsoo (who was staring at the ceiling, because wow that was high, and the clean, beige lines were quite appealing and-) towards the elevators, laughing when Kyungsoo’s ears turned red.

They went up. And up. And up. And even farther up. Kyungsoo watched the floor number rise, his eyes widening when he (belatedly) realized that the top floor had been pressed.

“Uh, Jongin, did you- did you forget to press your floor?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin gave him a confused look.

“No?” Jongin looked at the buttons, then back at Kyungsoo.

“Oh, you- you actually live in the penthouse,” Kyungsoo said breathlessly. His heart had started racing again, and he wished, just for a second, for the calm mundanity of his life before this, but then the elevator slowed to a stop.

“Is it bad that I live in the penthouse?” Jongin asked in a small voice. Kyungsoo, so entranced by the opening of the elevator doors, didn’t even hear him; instead, he was stepping out with wobbly knees towards the door of Jongin’s apartment.

“Nice door,” he said. Stupid. Stupid Kyungsoo. That was a stupid thing to say. Nice _door?_ Jongin look amused, opening it and stepping inside, taking off his shoes. In Kyungsoo’s defense, it _was_ a nice door, thick amber-colored wood with a frosted-glass insert around the frame. Then Kyungsoo realized Jongin was waiting for him to come inside, an amused smile on his lips. Ears burning, Kyungsoo stepped inside, taking off his shoes. He put them next to Jongin’s, just inside a closet right next to the entrance, full of shoes and coats and scarves. Jongin was organized, at least, which pleased Kyungsoo very much.

“Well, welcome home,” Jongin said timidly. Home. Maybe too soon for that, but he wouldn’t mind living in a penthouse. Not when- oh. Oh, what a beautiful kitchen. Kyungsoo beelined towards it, trailing his fingers along the counter. The counters were a deep carnelian, all the accents in dark wood, but for the platinum gleam of the fridge. The stove and the sink were matching brushed nickel. Kyungsoo stood in the middle of it, absolutely mesmerized. Jongin’s chuckle startled him.

“Oh, sorry. Oh god, I just ran to the kitchen. I’m so sorry,” Kyungsoo hid his face in his hands, cursing the heat that rushed to his ears.

“It was cute,” said Jongin. That word again. Kyungsoo hated it. But…not when Jongin said it. No, if Jongin thought he was cute, then he was cute.

“Sorry,” he mumbled again, shuffling out of the kitchen. Jongin held out his hand, showing Kyungsoo the living room, the dining room, a quick peek at the terrace and the gym, before they went up the stairs (Kyungsoo, in his awe, choked on his saliva when he realized there was a second floor).

Jongin’s room was tidy, only a few shirts strewn on the desk chair (and a sock in the corner, which Jongin sheepishly explained he’d thrown because he was angry at it - he hated socks). The bed was enormous, even for a guy as big as Jongin, and Kyungsoo wanted nothing more than to throw himself on it. Jongin seemed to have read his mind, a sly smile on his lips.

“I guess it’s a good thing this bed is so big,” he started, but Kyungsoo, wonderful, sweet Kyungsoo, was a little slow on the uptake. “There are lots of things we can try on it.” And there it was. Kyungsoo blushed, giggling. Yes, there _were_ lots of things they could try; quite a few had already crossed Kyungsoo’s mind. But then the thought of it made him awkward, and they both dissolved in giggles.

“I suppose there are,” he said, and then Jongin stepped closer, and Kyungsoo was acutely aware of just how close they were, of the warmth radiating off of Jongin. He looked up at Jongin, who gave him a small smile, his cheeks pinked. Standing there, in the shadow of Jongin’s warmth, woke something up in Kyungsoo he hadn’t felt before, not like this.

“I mean, we don’t have to do anything right now, of course. Waiting is fine, it’s good. We’ve got the rest of our liv-” Kyungsoo cut him off with a kiss before the courage left him.

 

\- 

 

Which Jongin was not expecting. The press of Kyungsoo’s soft lips against his, the embarrassed flutter of Kyungsoo’s eyelashes when Kyungsoo pulled away.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Stopped? Yeah,” Jongin said breathlessly. Kyungsoo froze, and Jongin knew he was caught off guard, but a smile worked its way onto Kyungsoo’s face, that beautiful heart Jongin knew he would never tire of seeing. But now that the heat was making its way to his ears, Jongin felt a little bit of nervousness. He willed himself to calm down, to hold the tide of heat and sweat when Kyungsoo tip-toed again to kiss him, but it was no use. He succumbed to Kyungsoo, to the tangle of their hands as they tried to undress each other clumsily, to the giggles when they bumped noses, to the novelty of feeling so vulnerable and so trusted at the same time. Kyungsoo, he could tell, was quite self conscious at first, curling in on himself while Jongin fought with the zipper on his pants. But once Jongin was in his underwear, Kyungsoo seemed to forget his own nakedness and marveled at the muscle and golden skin. Jongin was flushed, loving the glint of desire in Kyungsoo’s eyes, the soft touch of Kyungsoo’s fingertips, the meeting of their lips. He wanted to hurry, to meet the climax head on, but he also wanted to spend all night exploring each dip and curve of Kyungsoo’s body. He wasn’t sure where his shyness went, his shame, but he didn’t care, instead coaxing Kyungsoo onto his lap, kneading the softness of Kyungsoo’s ass. They became a tangle of limbs, pausing ever so often to make sure they weren’t tangled beyond salvation. And then Kyungsoo started kissing his way down. Oh. Jongin watched him, entranced by the movement of Kyungsoo’s pink lips trailing down his abs, pausing at the waistband of Jongin’s underwear. Kyungsoo looked up at him, his beautiful eyes wide, and Jongin gave him a small nod. Kyungsoo pulled down Jongin’s underwear, licking his lips nervously. Jongin felt self conscious then, blushing, even when Kyungsoo wrapped his lips around Jongin’s dick, sucking gently. It sent a shiver down Jongin’s spine, sighing when Kyungsoo sucked harder, setting a slow rhythm, though awkwardness made Kyungsoo stutter in his movements. Jongin tangled his fingers in Kyungsoo’s hair, watching Kyungsoo’s lips

“Ah- wait,” Jongin stopped him, pulling him up. They kissed, but Kyungsoo pulled back, a worried look in his eyes. He looked, to Jongin, amazing, with mussed hair and slightly swollen lips.

“Did I-”

“No! That feels really good,” Jongin laughed breathily, caressing Kyungsoo’s cheek. “I just- I want you to feel good, too.” Kyungsoo smiled, his cheeks pinking.

“That would be nice,” he said. Jongin kissed him again.

“So, uh, sixty-nine?” Jongin purred. Kyungsoo choked, hiding in Jongin’s neck, until the coughs and laughs subsided. “Without choking. You were doing so well.” Kyungsoo lightly smacked his arm.

“You’re insufferable,” said Kyungsoo. Jongin beamed, flipping them so that Kyungsoo was underneath. He blew raspberries on Kyungsoo’s neck; Kyungsoo squealed, trying to throw him off, but Jongin was too heavy, so he resigned himself to groaning instead. “That’s gross. I’m all covered in saliva now.”

“That’s not the only thing you’ll be covered in,” Jongin sputtered, finishing just before he dissolved into giggles. Kyungsoo’s ears were bright red. “Okay, I’m done. I promise.” Kyungsoo didn’t seem satisfied, but the incredulity was soon replaced by small gasps. Jongin kissed and nibbled his way down, lapping at Kyungsoo’s dick. He drunk in Kyungsoo’s small moans, scooting around until he was facing the opposite way, pausing his sucking when Kyungsoo wrapped a hand on Jongin’s asscheek, wrapping his lips around Jongin’s dick again.

The room was filled with soft sucking and soft moans, and Jongin kneaded Kyungsoo’s ass gently, almost absentmindedly, until Kyungsoo tried to pull away. He moaned in protest, popping off wetly when Jongin kept sucking.

“Jongin, I’m-” he groaned, “I’m close-” Jongin sucked harder, but the hot spurt of cum still caught him by surprise. Kyungsoo thrusted shallowly, his breath stuttering on Jongin’s dick. Some of the cum dribbled onto Jongin’s bottom lip. His pink tongue darted out to clean it up, and Kyungsoo, seeing him, blushed. For a moment their eyes met, and Kyungsoo, rosy cheeked and still reeling in post-orgasmic bliss, smiled at him, before wrapping his fingers around Jongin’s dick to jerk him off. It was a horrible and wonderful thing, Jongin decided, to watch his cum spurt all over Kyungsoo’s fingers; some of it even landed on Kyungsoo’s lips (and Jongin nearly nutted again at the doe-eyed surprise, the softly parted and slightly swollen lips). He crawled up to meet Kyungsoo in a kiss, lapping at the cum on Kyungsoo’s lips. Kyungsoo whimpered then, swallowing hard.

“You, uh, you still have cum on- there,” Kyungsoo pointed at the corner of Jongin’s mouth, blushing when Jongin’s tongue snaked out to lick it clean. “Oh.” Kyungsoo put his hand on Jongin’s chest, eyes widening in horror when he realized he’d smeared cum on him. “Sorry!” Jongin reached out for Kyungsoo’s hand, tongue at the ready, but Kyungsoo rolled away, giggling, and nearly fell off the bed.

“Aw, I could’ve cleaned that,” Jongin whined.

“That’s enough cum!” Kyungsoo squeaked. There was a pinkness in his cheeks that Jongin knew was from the cum licking; the amused yet slightly scandalized twinkle in Kyungsoo’s eye. Jongin’s response, naturally, was a pout, but Kyungsoo slid off the bed anyway, and headed toward the bathroom.


	5. Prismatic Souls Pt 4

Kyungsoo’s first thought upon waking was that this bed was overwhelmingly comfortable; dangerously so, in fact. He had no intention of moving, snuggled between the comforters and Jongin’s bare chest. Oh. Right. Jongin. Naked, in bed. Still asleep, a hand thrown over his eyes. How cute. Kyungsoo shifted closer, resting his cheek on Jongin’s pec, his eyes fluttering to a close when the alarm on his phone went off.  
    “Shit,” he bolted upright, scrambling for his phone (and knocking his hip bone on the corner of the nightstand - that would leave a nasty bruise, he knew it). He looked at the time, letting out a string of curses. There was no way he’d make it to work on time, not when he had to cross all of Seoul and back. He couldn’t risk showing up without his uniform. So he pulled on his rumpled clothes, nearly falling ass-first on the floor. Jongin had woken up with the racket, peering at Kyungsoo with eyes still puffy from his sleep. His hair was sticking up adorably, and Kyungsoo wanted to go back to bed and pat it down, to caress Jongin’s cheek until they fell asleep again. But he couldn’t, so he pulled on his socks and ran downstairs.

    He did, in fact, arrive to work almost two hours late. He hoped to slip in unnoticed, but it was a completely unreasonable hope, considering he’d missed three days of work and was now late. Jaehwan cornered him first, bread knife in hand.  
    “Where the hell have you been?” Jaehwan asked, waving the knife in Kyungsoo’s face.  
    “Can you point that somewhere else before you hurt someone,” Kyungsoo snapped, trying to push past him.  
    “Not until you answer my question,” he hissed. Kyungsoo gave him the dirtiest look he could muster, folding his arms across his chest.  
    “I fell into my closet and ended up in Narnia where a leopard-”  
    “It was a lion,” Jaehwan interrupted.  
    “Where a leopard decided it wanted to show me the whole continent on a five-star cruise ship. Only just got back yesterday,” Kyungsoo finished, glaring at him.  
    “Fuck you, I was worried,” Jaehwan spat.  
    “I’m fine, now move,” Kyungsoo pushed past him, going to his work station.  
    The sight of the peppers, the ones he’d mixed up just last week, shocked him. Waxy and bright and yellow and green and red, stark against the brushed steel of the table. He would definitely grow these at home. It seemed a shame to him, actually, to have to cut them now, but he did anyway, marveling in the even, minute cubes building up on the cutting board. It engrossed him, the rhythm of cutting, until he’d forgotten that he’d been so nervous.  
    That was, until Jeongsuk called him to the office. Kyungsoo was officially fucked.  
    He bowed deeply as soon as he reached the door, bowing twice more before Jeongsuk asked him to sit.  
    “Welcome back, Mr. Do,” he said with a smile, resting his elbows on the desk. Kyungsoo swallowed hard. Jeongsuk’s nonchalance was throwing him off.  
    “Th-thank you?” He stuttered.  
    “You were out for-” Jeongsuk paused, looking down at the paper on his desk, “three days, and you were late today.” Then nothing else. Kyungsoo could feel the sweat seeping into his uniform shirt.  
    “I’m very sorry, Mr. Jo, it won’t happen again,” Kyungsoo murmured, bowing; but when he sat back up, Jeongsuk was still giving him a curious look.  
    “Why were you out?”  
    “S-sorry?”  
    “You’ve never missed work like this, and we tried contacting you but we couldn’t. We were worried. Were you alright?” Jeongsuk asked. Kyungsoo was stunned into silence.  
    “Y-yes, I was fine, Mr. Jo,” Kyungsoo said at last. Jeongsuk sat back.  
    “Well, that’s good to hear. But I’ll still need to know why you were out,” he said.  
    “Because I-” Kyungsoo paused. This was the first time he was going to say it. To speak the words into existence, “Because I met my soulmate.” Oh, that felt amazing. Jeongsuk’s face lit up.  
    “Congratulations, Kyungsoo,” he said, standing up. “Really, this is incredible! I’m so happy for you.” And then he pulled Kyungsoo into a hug. Kyungsoo sputtered out a thank you.  
    “I know I should’ve called it in, Mr. Jo, but it was so overwhelming-”  
    “Oh, I know, Kyungsoo. It’s fine, don’t worry. We can talk more about it when you get back,” Jeongsuk sat back down.  
    “G-get back? From…” Kyungsoo stared at him.  
    “From your leave. All persons who meet their soulmate are entitled to four weeks of vacation for the purpose of strengthening the relationship,” said Jeongsuk, beaming up at Kyungsoo.  
    “Oh.”  
    “Now go home, Kyungsoo. Relax. Go fall in love,” said Jeongsuk, standing up to give Kyungsoo a pat on the shoulder. Kyungsoo was still in shock, letting his boss lead him out of the office, standing at the door awkwardly when Jeongsuk continued on his way.

The train ride home was one long hour and half trip of processing just what Jeongsuk had told him. Four weeks off. He’d never even dreamed of having that much time off. But it was perfect. Then his thoughts turned to Jongin. He couldn’t think of him without his ears turning red. So caught up in his memory of the night before that he nearly missed his stop. Even the dreary streets and dingy apartment weren’t enough to dampen his mood. That was, until he pulled out his phone to call Jongin and realized he didn’t have his number. Fuck. How could he forget? His heart sank, and for a split second he wanted to scream, but no, he would figure it out. So he scrolled through his contact list until he found the person he was looking for.  
    “Jongdae, I need to ask you something-”  
    “Good morning Kyungsoo,” Jongdae chirped. Kyungsoo let out an exasperated sigh. He really didn’t want to hear what Jongdae would say.  
    “Do you, by any chance, happen to have Jongin’s phone number?”  
    Silence. Kyungsoo looked at his phone, thinking the call had disconnected, but no, Jongdae was still there.  
    “Hello?” A sharp inhalation.  
    “Oh, I heard you. But of all the monumentally stupid things you’ve ever done, Do Kyungsoo-”  
    “Yes, Jongdae. I know. Do you have his number?”  
    “You literally went home with him last night!” Jongdae screeched.  
    “I know that-”  
    “I cannot believe you right now, Kyungsoo-”  
    “Can you just text me his number-”  
    “Were you two fucking? That’s the only valid excuse for this-” Kyungsoo hung up on him then, sitting on the floor next to his bed. A few minutes passed, and still no text from Jongdae. Tears pricked his eyes, and he sniffled, feeling overwhelmingly useless. Why couldn’t he just have remembered? That should’ve been the first thing he did, the most basic- The vibration of his phone interrupted his thoughts. A number flashed on the screen, one Kyungsoo didn’t know, so he let it ring, getting ready to indulge in his pity fest when the realization smacked him. He practically tackled the phone, swearing when it didn’t respond to his thumb at first.  
    “Hello?!” He asked, breathlessly.  
    “Kyungsoo?” yes, that was Jongin’s deep voice on the other end. Kyungsoo sighed, wiping at the stray tear on his cheek.  
    “Hey, oh gosh. I’m really sorry, I completely forgot to ask you for your number-”  
    “It’s okay. I did too,” Jongin chuckled, “But are you okay?”  
    “Why wouldn’t I be?” Kyungsoo asked, staring at his phone with a frown.  
    “Oh, well, you really bolted out of the apartment this morning and you seemed like you were panicking so I didn’t know if maybe…”  
    “Maybe what?”  
    “Maybe you’d regretted what we did last night,” Jongin finished in a small voice.  
    “What? Oh- No! Jongin no! I don’t regret it,” Kyungsoo stuttered. “I was just freaking out because my alarm went off and I’d completely forgotten I was going to work today and I didn’t even have my unifor- Why are you laughing?”  
    “Nothing. Go on,” said Jongin.  
    “Well I rushed to get home. And I did get to work late, unfortunately, but then my boss told me I had the next four weeks off-”  
    “Because of us,” Jongin finished. Yes. Because of us. Kyungsoo liked the sound of that. “Well now that you know you don’t have to work tomorrow, would you like to eat dinner at my place and stay over?” Kyungsoo blushed, burying his face in his hands. Which was stupid, really, Jongin couldn’t see him. But the thought of what they had done last night…  
    “Depends on what dinner is,” Kyungsoo answered, cringing. That came out much less flirty than he’d meant it to.  
    “We could have a glamorous dinner from Shake Shack?” Jongin asked, dissolving into laughter. Kyungsoo sputtered.  
    “Absolutely not, Kim Jongin,” he said, still in disbelief.  
    “They have good burgers,” he heard Jongin whine.  
    “Why don’t you cook me something,” said Kyungsoo. Silence. The silence stretched on so long, in fact, that Kyungsoo thought the call had disconnected.  
    “Not if you want to live,” an unfamiliar voice answered.  
    “Manager-hyung!” Jongin’s horrified voice squeaked. Kyungsoo giggled.  
    “He can’t be that bad, can he?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin whined.  
    “I would really prefer that you get Shake Shack if Jongin’s cooking is the other option,” the manager replied.  
    “I’m not that terrible, it’s just experimental,” said Jongin, continuing his whining. Oh, that did not sound good.  
    “Okay, how about I cook?” Kyungsoo asked.  
    “Yes,” both Jongin and the manager replied. Kyungsoo chuckled.  
    “Alright, if I’m gonna cook, I’m going to need-” Kyungsoo listed off the ingredients, smiling the scramble he heard from the other line. “It’ll take me about an hour and a half to get there, though.”  
    “Where do you live?” Jongin asked, sounding baffled.  
    “Very far,” was Kyungsoo’s answer.  
    “Okay,” said Jongin, sounding, if Kyungsoo wasn’t imagining things, a bit disappointed. “Manager-hyung is gonna get the ingredients for you.”  
    “See you then,” said Kyungsoo.  
    “Mmm. Please save my number this time, yah?” Jongin quipped, before he hung up.

-

  
The doorman’s voice crackled through the intercom, announcing Kyungsoo’s arrival. Jongin glanced at the bags of groceries his manager had dropped off, then at the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’d dressed up for this, far too formally at first, but had finally settled on a black turtleneck and red pants. Fancy but casual. Still comfy. He didn’t want to look too formal. Despite what they’d done last night Jongin was still nervous, going to the mirror by the closet for the millionth time to check his hair, huffing when a stray lock withered, defying the hairspray. He pushed the offending lock back, but it refused to stay, so he whined in protest, sucking his teeth when it flopped onto his forehead again.  
    There was a knock on the door. He tried to push it up one last time, but it refused to cooperate, so he left it at that, opening the front door. And there was Kyungsoo, adorable, rosy-cheeked, tiny Kyungsoo, beaming up at him.  
    “Hey,” Jongin said a little breathlessly.  
    “Hi,” Kyungsoo replied, shifting his weight. That was cute. Jongin almost cooed at him, but that probably would’ve been weird. So he settled for a quick kiss instead, his eyes fluttering to a close when Kyungsoo tiptoed to meet him.   
    “How was work?” Jongin asked when they pulled apart. Kyungsoo’s apple cheeks were fully pink now. Gosh, Jongin wanted to bury him in smooches. But Kyungsoo was still standing in the doorway, so Jongin stepped aside to let him in.  
    “What, you mean the whole twenty minutes I was there?” said Kyungsoo, toeing off his shoes.  
    “Well, twenty minutes of work for four weeks of vacation sounds like a good day to me,” said Jongin, laughing when Kyungsoo gave him a light smack on the arm. He padded over to the kitchen (and Jongin watched the sway of Kyungsoo’s hips, the lightest jiggle of Kyungsoo’s thighs and ass, completely enraptured), stopping next to the bags with a little hop. Oh, that ass jiggle. But then Jongin realized Kyungsoo would turn to look at him at any moment so he sidled over to join him. Kyungsoo gave him a bright smile, brushing the treacherous lock away from Jongin’s forehead. Well, maybe not treacherous. The soft brush of Kyungsoo’s fingertips against his skin made him blush.  
    “These it?” Kyungsoo asked, peeking into the bags on the counter. Jongin nodded, peering too. “You didn’t buy this did you?”  
    “Manager-hyung knows how to pick things better than I do,” Jongin said with a sheepish grin.  
    “Of course,” Kyungsoo said gruffly. For the first time in his life Jongin was starting to feel bad about not knowing how to cook, but then, seeing Kyungsoo’s deft fingers sorting through the groceries (yes, really, even something as simple as that), made him quite glad he didn’t know. “Wait, did you not have any of this?” Kyungsoo turned on Jongin, eyes nearly popping out of the sockets. “Even garlic?” He waved it in front of Kyungsoo’s face.  
    “Uh,” Jongin gave him a bashful smile, hunching his shoulders. Kyungsoo stared at him, unblinking, and Jongin bit his lip.  
    “You cannot be seriou- oh my god, Jongin,” Kyungsoo had pushed past him, opening up the fridge. It was glimmering on the inside, fresh and clean and entirely empty but for a few water bottles and a can of grape juice. “What do you eat?”  
    “Food! I just order out a lot. And maybe sometimes manager-hyung makes shin ramyun for me,” Jongin mumbled, gulping at the bewildered look Kyungsoo gave him.  
    “Jongin-” Kyungsoo paused, taking a deep breath. He closed the fridge door, glancing over at the groceries. “I’ll just make dinner.” Okay now Jongin felt bad again. But then Kyungsoo spun into action, working with an efficiency that left Jongin slack-jawed.  
    “Wow,”  
    “Hmm?” Kyungsoo looked up at him as he peeled the garlic. “This isn’t my house but you’re welcome to sit.” Jongin blushed, settling onto a stool.  
    “It is your home,” he said softly, and now it was Kyungsoo’s turn to blush. “And you’re just- wow. How do you do all of that so fast?” Kyungsoo snorted.  
    “Practice, dummy. I work as a chef’s assistant at a cooking school,” he said, dicing the onions. Jongin watched him, resting his chin on his hand, as Kyungsoo worked, making the dumplings, the broth simmering as his hands flew. The scent was, quite frankly, heavenly, and Jongin’s stomach made its opinion clear. Kyungsoo laughed.  
    “Ah, don’t laugh. It’s embarrassing,” Jongin whined, covering his stomach with his arms. “It smells too good.”  
    “Mm, I’m guessing it doesn’t ever smell like this here,” said Kyungsoo, finally dropping the dumplings in, stirring the beef that was already in the soup.  
    “Not at all,” Jongin moaned, walking around the island to get a closer look. Kyungsoo’s elbow collided with Jongin’s arm.  
    “Hey, no standing in the kitchen if you’re not helping,” Kyungsoo snapped, but the way he pouted up at Jongin made him coo. “Stop that.”  
    “But I am helping,” Jongin whined, “I’m the quality tester- ah, aw, please?” But Kyungsoo shooed him out anyway.  
    “Not yet, big baby,” said Kyungsoo, folding his arms across his chest. Jongin faked a sob, clutching his heart. “Don’t do that, you’re making me feel bad.” So of course, Jongin collapsed onto the counter, arms outstretched.  
    “Oh, Kyungsoo. Please, give me some of the magical broth! It’s the only way I’ll liv- ow! You poke hard!” Jongin doubled over, rubbing the spot Kyungsoo had jabbed his finger in.  
    “Not yet,” Kyungsoo hissed. “You can’t rush perfection.”  
    “Then gimme a smooch,” Jongin whined, pursing his lips comically. Kyungsoo dissolved into giggles.  
    “Not when you look like that,” he said. Jongin pouted. “Okay, fine.” Kyungsoo gave him a quick kiss, his squeal of surprise muffled when Jongin kissed him deeper, pulling him close till their chests were touching. The grumble of Jongin’s stomach interrupted them.  
    “Oops?” said Jongin.  
    “Did you eat lunch?” Kyungsoo asked, his nose scrunched adorably.  
    “May…be?” Kyungsoo’s face morphed into shock.  
    “That’s not healthy!”  
    “You don’t approve of Shake Shack so I wasn’t gonna eat it!” Jongin protested. It was Kyungsoo’s turn to be quiet.  
    “I’ve never actually had it,” he confessed. Jongin stared at him, jaw hanging.  
    “What?”  
    “I’ve never tried it-”  
    “That’s blasphemy, hyung-”  
    “You can’t even cook!”  
    “Yeah well-” Jongin sputtered, “Well- so what?” How eloquent. He burst into laughter before Kyungsoo did, but the Kyungsoo leaned into him, and his heart somersaulted. It felt so right, the way Kyungsoo was tucked in Jongin’s arms, his warm cheek pressed against Jongin’s neck. He wanted to hold him like that forever. Except Kyungsoo bolted, running towards the stove.  
“Well, dinner is ready, Jonginnie,” Kyungsoo said, gesturing dramatically at the stove, “Please tell me you at least have plates.” Jongin gasped, mock offended.  
“I can’t cook, that doesn’t mean I don’t have thing to eat off of or eat with,” he said with a pout. He grabbed the plates for Kyungsoo, watching him serve the soup, handling the small spoon (because despite Jongin’s protest, he didn’t even have a ladle) with an efficiency Jongin envied. He walked up behind him, resting his chin on Kyungsoo’s shoulder.  
“Jal meokgesseumnida,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to Kyungsoo’s cheek.


	6. Prismatic Souls Pt 5

Kyungsoo stretched luxuriously, slumping onto Jongin’s chest again when he was done. He’d been awake for half an hour now, but the comfort of the bed was too much, nestled between the warmth of the comforter and the warmth of Jongin; so he stayed, lulled into a pliant state. Jongin, it seemed, wouldn’t wake soon, and Kyungsoo wanted to make them breakfast, but then he remembered the gleaming empty insides of the fridge and decided that staying in bed really would be the best option.

It would be another hour before Jongin stirred, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Morning,” he murmured into Kyungsoo’s hair.

“Hm, good morning Jonginnie,” said Kyungsoo, propping his chin on Jongin’s chest.

“Ow, pointy chin,” Jongin grumbled, pouting when Kyungsoo giggled. But then Jongin rolled onto his side (and Kyungsoo slid off him) and closed his eyes again.

“Oh no. Come on,” Kyungsoo sat up then, hissing at the cool air against his overheated skin. The comforter was puddled at his waist, and had slipped off Jongin’s shoulder; he shivered, curling up into a ball.

“Go back to sleep,” he whined, pulling Kyungsoo down. Kyungsoo draped himself over Jongin’s bare back, nuzzling Jongin’s shoulder.

“Aren’t you hungry?” he whispered. Jongin groaned.

“Yes,” he said in a small voice. “But I don’t wanna leave bed.”

“Well I-” Kyungsoo said, placing a kiss on Jongin’s shoulder, “will go make breakfast and you-” another kiss, “will wash up.” Jongin sighed.

“Okay,” he sniffled. So with another kiss, Kyungsoo rolled off the bed and trudged downstairs.

The dumplings, leftovers from last night that he decided to pan-fry, were nearly done by the time he felt Jongin come up behind him, nuzzling the back of his head.

“Smells good,”

“That’s what happens when the food you cook is homemade-”

“I meant you,” Jongin said softly. Kyungsoo blushed.

“O-oh,” he turned his head to look up at Jongin, his cheeks heating up at the bashful smile on Jongin’s lips.

“But the food does too,” Jongin added, and his stomach echoed its agreement.

“It’s a good thing it’s done then, huh,” said Kyungsoo, placing the dumplings on a plate. Jongin, in his infinite impatience (something Kyungsoo had noticed last night) grabbed a dumpling with his fingers, hissing when it burned him.

“Why does it hurt me like this?” he whined.

“The same way the soup hurt you last night?” Kyungsoo asked, raising an eyebrow. Jongin sighed, his shoulders sagging.

“Yes,” he sniffled.

“Then _wait_ , dummy,” said Kyungsoo, handing Jongin chopsticks. Jongin complied, but dragged his feet to the table, biting into the first dumpling as soon as Kyungsoo sat down.

They ate in relative silence, no doubt aided by their hunger, until they were down to the last dumpling. Jongin stared at it, then at Kyungsoo.

“You can have it,” Kyungsoo said sweetly.

“But I feel bad,” Jongin said softly.

“It’s fine, Jonginnie, I can make more,” said Kyungsoo, twining his fingers with Jongin’s. They were so slender, elegant; long and slim, just like the rest of Jongin. He loved it.

“Okay,” Jongin said hesitantly. But then he swallowed the dumpling in one bite. Of course. But now that they had eaten they found it hard to get up. Well, Kyungsoo did at least, and judging by the slump of Jongin’s shoulders, he also had no intention of getting up.

“We need food,” Kyungsoo said after a while. Jongin opened his mouth to reply. “ _Real_ food.” He closed it with a pout.

“We just _ate._ ”

“Yeah, the last food in this apartment. You _know_ there’s nothing else there. I can’t cook with half a head of garlic and two onions,” Kyungsoo retorted.

“We could get them delivered?” Jongin said hopefully. _Delivered?_

“Absolutely not, Kim Jongin,” Kyungsoo sniffed.

“Why not?”

“They don’t know how to pick anything! They give you beat up fruits and bad meat and-”

“Okay, we’ll go!” said Jongin, an amused twinkle in his eye. “You look so cute all riled up.”

Kyungsoo sputtered. No. He was _not_ cute. But he also couldn’t say no to Jongin, not like that. So he just stood up, squeaking when Jongin pinched his ass.

 

They arrived to the supermarket an hour later, and Kyungsoo was equal parts excited and intimidated. This was a fancy supermarket, with overpriced food, but it was all better quality, fresher. Any chef (or chef’s assistant’s) wet dream. He took a deep breath and stepped in, keeping out of the way of Jongin and the cart. First were the fruits, which Jongin stopped at immediately, and Kyungsoo had to stop him from filling the whole cart with boxes of strawberries. Then Kyungsoo wandered off, admiring the deep red pomegranates.

“Oh look, hyung, peache- Ah!” Jongin threw the fruit back, jumping back. It happened nearly in slow motion, the tumble of fruits, but Kyungsoo was able to stop them with his arm, only the offending peach rolling onto the floor.

“Jongin!” Kyungsoo looked over at him, his eyes wide. Jongin was still frozen, watching the peach roll farther. “What was that for?” Jongin held out his hand.

“M-moldy,” he sniffled, looking at his fingers miserably. Kyungsoo let out his breath, pushing the fruits back into a neat pile.

“Did you actually touch the mold?” Kyungsoo asked, shuffling back to inspect Jongin’s fingers.

“I-I don’t think so,” Jongin said miserably. With anyone else Kyungsoo would have continued to be annoyed, but the monumental pout and the glisten in Jongin’s eyes made his heart melt.

“Just go wash your hands,” Kyungsoo said softly, brushing the hair out of Jongin’s eyes, “And don’t scare me like that again, okay?” Jongin nodded, leaning down to give Kyungsoo a quick peck on the lips. Kyungsoo watched him walk down the aisle, skirting the fallen moldy peach, and rested his hands on the shopping cart handle.

He heard Jongin guffawing behind him.

“Hyung-” and a snort, his laughter growing. So Kyungsoo turned around. And he saw apricots.

“Yes?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Tiny butts,” Jongin managed, before dissolving into laughter yet again. Kyungsoo stared at him, because was he _really_ laughing at that? But because Jongin’s laugh was so ridiculous Kyungsoo couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Really,” he tried to deadpan, but he couldn’t.

“Look this one is- this one is just like yours,” Jongin said through hysterical giggles, picking up a particularly round apricot with a pronounced indent.

“Okay, put it down. We’re moving on now,” Kyungsoo said, biting back the giggle that threatened to spill. He plucked the apricot from Jongin’s fingers and placed it back snugly among the others.

“Tiny Kyungsoo butts,” Jongin repeated, burying his head in Kyungsoo’s back, his shoulders shaking.

“Hyung look! Cucumbers! My friend Baekhyun hates the-”

“Jongin,” said Kyungsoo, staring at the fruit in Jongin’s hand.

“Eh?” Jongin looked at it, then back at Kyungsoo.

“That’s…not a cucumber,” he said at last. Jongin’s face morphed into one of confusion, his lip curled.

“It’s not?” Jongin held it closer, and Kyungsoo had to stifle a giggle.

“It’s a zucchini,” said Kyungsoo, pointing at the plastic label on the display.

“I just saw long and green-”

“Mhmm,” Kyungsoo couldn’t hold back his laughter now and Jongin’s face fell.

“Ah, hyung,” he whined, “That’s not fair, this is _your_ area of expertise.” He stomped his foot, huffing at Kyungsoo’s giggles.

“It’s-it’s-” but he couldn’t even get out the words. Jongin huffed.

“Yah, let’s just go,” he plopped the zucchini back, turning on his heel.

“Wait, I actually want some of those,” Kyungsoo sputtered, grabbing two and a plastic bag for Jongin to put them in. But naturally Jongin just kept pushing the cart, a zucchini in each hand, the bag sitting on top of the onions, neglected.

“Do you think you could-” Jongin looked around, then lowered his voice, “Do you think you could stickoneoftheseupyourass?” Kyungsoo stopped abruptly, cursing when Jongin crashed the shopping cart into him.

“What?”

Jongin looked up at him from the zucchinis in his hand.

“You know,” he waved them around, “Up the bun hole?”

“But _why_?” Kyungsoo asked. Jongin shrugged. “Wh- that’s what dildos are for!” And just because luck was _not_ on Kyungsoo’s side, an ahjumma passed at that moment and gave him a disapproving frown. “Don’t _laugh_!” Kyungsoo whined, but of course Jongin did anyway.

“I was just wondering, that’s all,” he said, still grinning.

“I don’t think so. Cucumbers are probably better for that,” Kyungsoo said at last, snatching the zucchini out of Jongin’s hands. “Next time, we’re getting the groceries delivered.”

“Aw, no! This is fun,” said Jongin, poking Kyungsoo’s arm.

And maybe Jongin was right. Everything in the cart looked beautiful, the arrays of deep, striated red of the pomegranates, the green and yellow mottled pumpkins, the deeper green of the zucchini; even the waxy reds and greens of peppers nestled between the leaves. Kyungsoo had decided that morning that given all the sunlight in Jongin’s apartment, it would be a shame to not have a vegetable garden at the very least, so he’d picked pepper plants and tomatoes and chives and cilantro and scallions and oregano and radishes and basil. They’d had to get a second cart just for all the plants, a miniature jungle on wheels. And because Jongin thought they were lovely (they were, with thick pink petals freckled with darker pink, and a scent that nearly made his head dizzy) there were several lilies squashed in between the rest. The meat, stuffed in extra plastic baggies because one couldn’t be too careful (Jongin learned this the hard way, wide-eyed as Kyungsoo gave him a whole speech about putting meat on top of veggies), exiled to one corner of the cart. Kyungsoo was itching to get to the apartment, to sort it all out and see the bursts of color decorate the white insides of the great big fridge, and the packets and cans and boxes neatly organized in the pantry. At last, they picked out some munchies, mostly junk that Kyungsoo refused to even look at but secretly enjoyed. He couldn’t admit that his own highly refined culinary taste would be marred by honey butter chips and pepero. 

And then, because they could and they wanted to, they just meandered through the aisles, pointing out outrageous colors (causing quite a few traffic jams in the narrower aisles) and taking in properly, for the first time, a bit of the world in its full spectrum.

But when they reached the apartment Kyungsoo realized, one foot in the door and eyes wide in horror, that they had forgotten a key ingredient.

“Shit.”

“Hm?” Jongin turned around, brow creased.

“We didn’t get kimchi,” he groaned, “Not even something I could use until I raided the fridge at my place.”

“We could go to the corner store-”

“Absolutely not, that stuff is garbage,” Kyungsoo whined, stomping his foot. “I guess I’ll cook non-Korean food for now.” Jongin perked up.

“That’s okay! I don’t think I’ve tried proper foreign food. Shake Shack aside,” he said with a wink. Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes at him.

“Go put the lilies in water,” Kyungsoo grumbled. Jongin grinned at him, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, before he skipped over to the flowers. Cute. Stupidly cute. Kyungsoo loved it.

 

 

-

 

 

“I think-” Jongin paused, spread-eagled on the mattress.

“Hmm?” Kyungsoo sat at the edge of the bed, flattening the creases on the comforter.

“I think maybe the apartment decor needs an upgrade,” Jongin finished, rolling onto his stomach. Kyungsoo brightened at that, a heart-shaped smile growing on his lips.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I think Manager-hyung probably had something to do with it but the apartment is so-” Jongin sniffed, “ _bland_. It needs color.”

“It _could…_ ” Kyungsoo trailed off, grinning at the unamused look on Jongin’s face.

“Oh come off it, I know you want it to be more colorful too,” Jongin grumbled, and ah- that dorky guffaw. Kyungsoo was too cute for his own good.

“Okay, _fine_ , I do,” said Kyungsoo with a sigh. Jongin pulled Kyungsoo close, so that Kyungsoo was sitting fully on the bed, and then lay his head on Kyungsoo’s lap.

“It’s so odd,” Jongin sighed, “It’s like I just can’t quite get enough of it now. To think that I’d gone all these years in monochrome and now-” but then Kyungsoo began to play with Jongin’s hair and all the thoughts slipped out of his mind.

“I know. I feel like I need to see all the most colorful things, to drink them all in,” Kyungsoo hummed, but Jongin was too lost in the sensation of Kyungsoo’s fingers in his hair. “I-I actually-” Kyungsoo chuckled sheepishly, “I already have a few things in mind to buy.”

“Hnng?” Jongin moaned, and Kyungsoo leaned forward to get his phone, “No, don’t move.”

“But how am I gonna show you?” Kyungsoo asked, and Jongin groaned.

“O _kay,_ I’ll get the laptop,” Jongin said, faking a sob. Kyungsoo smacked his shoulder lightly.

“You big baby, you can just come right back,” said Kyungsoo, but he was giggling, his bright round cheeks pinked. But Jongin slipped off the bed and crawled to the desk, tucking the laptop under his arm. He handed it to Kyungsoo before he flopped onto the bed again, wiggling his way back onto Kyungsoo’s lap.

The light of the screen was blinding, but Kyungsoo lowered it, smoothing Jongin’s hair down until Jongin stopped grumbling. He pulled up the tabs, his finger hovering over a turquoise monstera print pillow case.

“Hyung, why don’t you look at stuff here?” Jongin asked, opening a new tab (clumsily, because he refused to move from Kyungsoo’s lap). He clicked on the pillowcases, stopping when Kyungsoo choked. He shot up, patting Kyungsoo’s back.

“Sorry, air- wrong way,” he said through the tears. Jongin kept rubbing small circles on his back, until the coughs subsided, but Kyungsoo still looked distressed.

“What’s wrong?” Jongin asked. Kyungsoo looked at the laptop screen, then at him.

“That pillowcase is worth 200,000 won,” said Kyungsoo.

“Yes.”

“ _Yes?_ That’s all you have to say to a ridiculously expensive pillowcase?” Kyungsoo squawked.

“Money isn’t an issue for me, Kyungsoo. And it isn’t for you either,” said Jongin. Kyungsoo was just staring at him now, but Jongin knew his brain was whirring. So he let him process it, letting it sink in, until Kyungsoo’s eyes widened. There. He got it.

“Oh.”

Jongin gave him a bright smile, but Kyungsoo was still in a daze. Jongin booped his nose gently, laughing at the bewildered and slightly offended look Kyungsoo gave him.

“Okay, well-” Kyungsoo cleared his throat, sniffling, and then wiggled into a more comfortable position, “Those _are_ cuter pillowcases.”

With a hum of agreement, Jongin sidled close again, his head resting on Kyungsoo’s chest. Of course that was a dangerous thing to do after a dinner as exquisite as the one Kyungsoo had whipped up, with the excitement of the day now gone. He was exhausted, and everything was soft and warm and cozy. His last thought, before his eyelids drooped, was that it felt so natural, so incredibly right, to be cuddled against Kyungsoo’s chest, lulled by the soft beat of his heart.


End file.
